


Fish are friends AND food

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where magic is the norm, three factions are at war. Merlin is tired of being out of things, stuck running a safe house, but when a mysterious man who needs shelter is left with him, will things change?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARANINGS: past torture, PTSD, mental health issues, loss of will (in past), injury, war imagery, 
> 
> Um... this started out as a fill for the prompt 'loss of identity' for hc_bingo, and it kind of... grew. There is still loss of id so it is still a fill. But it's kind of... yeah.

Merlin watches Gwen lead the stranger in. She's so gentle with him, so patient and soft. The man just follows her, head down, keeping hold of the hand she offers him. She stops and he stops at her heels, free hand idly smoothing his shirt.

“Arthur?” she asks, voice soft but firm. Arthur looks up at her, “this is Merlin.”

Arthur nods, but starts to look down again. Gwen smiles and touches his chin briefly, pointing to Merlin. Merlin shifts as Arthur looks across, uncomfortable under the penetrating, regal gaze. Because Arthur is regal. Whoever he might be, whatever he's had done to him, he looks like a prince from before time really began. Bold and certain and terribly, terribly out of place in Merlin's dingy flat.

“Merlin.” Arthur's voice is cracked, thin. A quiet murmur. He nods twice, then looks back at the floor and shuffles a little bit closer to Gwen.

“Come, I'll show you where you'll be staying,” she says.

Arthur follows on once more, trailing in Gwen's sure footsteps. Merlin sits back on the sofa and waits the hour Gwen's in there. As she comes out he stands, and he puts the light on when he realises the evening's drawing in. Gwen sits with a huff of breath. Merlin sits again.

“God. That was... I don't want to leave him,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Who is he?”

“You said you wouldn't ask. You can't ask him that, not ever. And if you work it out from things he says, you can't let him know that you know.”

“I know, you told me. I promised. It just slipped out.”

“If I thought otherwise I'd have yelled. I have to go, I can't stay. I shouldn't have stayed this long.”

Gwen makes no move to leave, so Merlin goes and pulls her to her feet, holding her by the biceps.

“I'll look after him. That's my job, right? Safe house.”

“Right. Nowhere safer.”

“Exactly. We'll do fine.”

“I just can't believe I'll probably never see him again.”

“He was important to you.”

“Oh Merlin, he was... is.. he _is_ more than important.”

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I,” She sniffs, eyes full, but then pulls herself straighter and checks her hair, sniffs more firmly and meets his eyes with a nod.

“Look after yourself. And Lance,” Merlin says.

“I will, we will.”

They move to the door and Merlin mutters the spell that will let her out somewhere other than the place she entered, and opens it. She steps through with a last goodbye, then turns.

“I'll look after him, I promise.”

“He might not come out for a while, Merlin.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Gwen nods hesitantly, looking like she wants to say more, but then leaves without another word or glance back. Merlin goes back inside and back to waiting around with nothing to do. Keeping a safe house is boring, but until they call for him, he's their secret weapon and has to stay hidden.

It doesn't take long for Merlin to realise why Gwen hesitated. A week, in fact. A week of knocking on Arthur's door and telling him breakfast/lunch/dinner is ready. Arthur never comes out, never answers .Merlin leaves trays out which vanish but he never catches a glimpse of Arthur. After three weeks he's given up. He's got used to talking to the door as if it's a person, giving it updates about the ironing or his latest experiment as he passes.

One day he's dashing past with a gold fish in his hands, making for the bathroom, after another theory that didn't quite work in reality.

“Fish! It turned into a fish, Arthur!”

As he runs past the door opens and Merlin runs straight into it with a sickening crunch. He lands in a pile sure that something is broken, and the fish goes flying. There are shuffling footsteps behind the door (now obscuring the hall) and some muttering, then the sound of a tap in the bathroom, and then the door closes again and Arthur looks down at him. He looks a little better than last time, but not much.

“I put your fish in the bathroom, but I don't think it's quite normal. It stuck to the ceiling and when I put it in the water... I left it doing somersaults over the cold tap.”

“It's a little bit magical. I was trying to make water, Lance says that would be helpful. It isn't working, though. Or not so's you can drink it or hold it or wash with it. I can move water, but I can't create it. Or I can't create a spell to create it. Technically I could create it, but I'm not allowed to leave this house so I have to think up a spell that other people can do.”

“Gwenevere told me that you're Emrys.”

“Well, I've been told that too. I'm dubious. I think I broke my nose, by the way. Or you did. With your sudden exodus.”

Arthur peers at him, eyes squinting, head cocking to one side. It's adorable. And oh, that's going to be a problem, Merlin thinks. Adorable. Oh dear.

“It's not broken. Now, I came out because I thought I would quite like some more of that chicken. You never give me seconds.”

“You never ask! In fact, you have been a completely non-existent room-mate so far!”

Arthur looks sheepish, then his gaze gets far away.

“I've been thinking. I wasn't sure of you, you know.”

“What changed your mind? I think I must be the most harmless person in this messed up world!”

“Yes, well. I think it's the amount of mistakes you make. For the most powerful sorcerer, you're a bit crap really.”

“Hey! I'm elemental, okay? I get my magic from the earth and air and water, not from spells and books. Translating it is difficult.”

“If you say so. You should check on your fish and then make me chicken. And make the poor fish a fish tank.”

“I can do fish tanks. Look!”

Merlin waves a hand and wriggles his fingers (mostly for effect- magic this simple he can do without thinking or focusing) and a fish tank plonks itself on the floor in front of him. He looks up at Arthur, smugly.

“The fish is this big,” Arthur says, incredulously, showing the inch and a half of its length with his fingers.

Merlin looks at the tank. The three foot by three foot tank. He shrinks it to a more normal size.

“How's that?”

“Better. It needs water. And... a police call-box.”

Merlin grins, “A TARDIS, you mean?”

“Maybe.”

Merlin puts a TARDIS in the bottom and fills the tank, then summons the fish. It comes flying out of the bathroom, flapping its fins, a look of ecstasy on its fishy little face. It hits the water in a graceful dive and swims around twice before settling, upside down, on the bottom of the tank.

“Is it... drowning?” Arthur asks.

“I think it's water-bathing.”

“Fish aren't meant to swim upside down. It means their innards are the wrong size.”

Merlin looks up at Arthur, surprised. Then he closes his eyes and compares the goldfish's insides to the diagram he once saw in a book.

“No, it's all right inside. I think it's just an odd fish.”

“Do you... do you have x-ray vision?”

Arthur looks worried and his hands are inching to cover his groin, which makes Merlin laugh. He shakes his head, though, and gets off the floor. He snaps his fingers and the fish tank floats up and follows him to the kitchen, sloshing water a bit. Arthur follows the fish tank and while Merlin makes chicken Arthur sits on a stool and watches the fish, muttering to it sometimes.

Over the next week Arthur spends a lot of time sitting on that stool, talking to the fish. He reports each new weird thing it does to Merlin:

“Merlin! Miranda just swam out through the glass! She nearly drowned.”

“Merlin! Miranda just stuck to the ceiling again!” (this one actually becomes rather common)

“Merlin! Miranda just turned herself green!”

“Merlin! Miranda just tried to fly! She landed in the frying pan!”

It's pretty much all Arthur talks about. He's always wary out of his room, keeping a watch on Merlin's movements. He always knows exactly where Merlin is in the flat, even if Merlin builds a new room or new annex. Merlin builds a maze, just to see, but Arthur finds his way through with apparent ease and says he just followed Merlin. He also keeps a lot of distance between them and never touches or lets Merlin close enough to touch, and he always shuffles. His voice gets stronger, though, and the half-starved look is almost gone.

Merlin's sitting on the sofa, playing himself at chess when the doorbell goes. Arthur starts and falls off the stool, sweeping Miranda's tank off the side in his wild grasp for something solid. There's a crash and Merlin jumps up, hurrying over, protecting his feet without a thought. Miranda's lying quite content on Arthur's chest, despite the fact that however magical she is she can't breathe in the air. Merlin scoops her up and drops her into the washing up bowl.

“Are you all right?”

“Y-yes. I need to hide.”

“I'll check who it is, first.”

Merlin heads for the door, but as soon as his back's turned Arthur's up and darting to his room, despite the glass and his bare feet. He leaves small smudges of blood on the kitchen floor, but Merlin just clears up the entire mess with a sweep of his hand and goes to the door. He needs to deal with whoever it is, it could be urgent. He looks through his spyhole, spotting Lance in a sharp suit with a box of shopping. Merlin lets him off the street and waits for his codes. Once received, he lets Lance into the house-propper.

“Lance!”

“Hi Merlin.”

Merlin takes the box from him and sets it on a table that helpfully appears to take it, then pulls Lance into a hug, laughing.

“It's been too long, Lance! You idiot!”

“I've been busy. Can I come in, or are we living in the hall these days?”

Merlin picks up the box again, dismissing the table with a flick. He leads Lance through the mess of hallways to the main living area.

“Oh, you've redecorated. I like the open plan.”

“Gwen suggested it. She's a genius.”

“Yes she is, and beautiful and talented and fantastic.”

“Still in love, then?”

“Indefinitely. Where's Arthur?”

“Hiding.”

“Ah.”

Merlin conducts the shopping into various cupboards, making it dance for fun. Lance watches, hand on Merlin's shoulder, smile familiar and warm.

“I've missed you, Lancelot.”

“Always miss you Merls. Can't be helped. Now, Gwen said I should give this to you. We found it in a raid.”

“Can Arthur...”

“He's cleared for it, but he might not like it. Might want to look later, or take me somewhere.”

“Right. Office, but later.”

Lance returns the wrapped package to his pocket and takes a seat on the sofa, clicking his fingers and speaking a mangled version of a spell. Merlin laughs as the kettle teeters, then whistles wildly. Lance blushes.

“It boiled, didn't it?” he defends.

“Yes, rather dramatically.”

“Like your magic doesn't fuck up sometimes.”

“Always, you mean. But mine does it with panache.”

Merlin demonstrates with a flick of the wrist; two teabags fall into two mugs and the boiling water sails across in two bubbles. It goes rather well, if Merlin does say so himself.

“How often do you do that, lazy?”

“Always.”

Merlin makes the cups sail over, the tea goes flying out and Merlin catches it. The mugs land a minute before the tea. Lance laughs at him for it, which is fair enough and Merlin forgives him because he updates Merlin on all their friends and family. It's so unusual to get news; most of the knights don't have time to stay. Lance stays for the whole cup of tea and then gets up to do the dishes. It's not until Lance is already half way across the room that Merlin remembers. He jumps up and dashes over.

“Lance!”

It's too late, though. Lance turns with a furrowed brow.

“There's a fish in here, Merls.”

“Uh, yeah. That's Miranda.”

“Uhuh.”

“I was trying to make water.”

“And made a fish. She's dancing.”

“Arthur's trying to teach her tricks. I didn't know it was working.”

“We watched the Little Mermaid.” Merlin and Lance both spin around at the quiet voice.

Arthur's leaning in the arch between living-room and hallway, shivering slightly. He's wearing socks now, but Merlin still narrows his eyes at his feet. He hip checks Lance and reminds him of the dishes then makes for Arthur. Arthur backs away.

“Living room, now.”

Arthur follows him, obedient as always.

“You didn't put Miranda back home.”

“You broke her home! I didn't fix it. I forgot. Let me see your feet.”

Arthur sits and lets Merlin take each foot and slides the socks off one by one. He shuts his eyes, a foot in each hand, running his thumbs over the soles, healing the small cuts he finds.

“Wow,” Arthur says.

“It doesn't work with big things,” Lance warns from the kitchen.

Merlin frowns, finding more than just the new cuts.

“What's this?”

He pauses at the old breaks. The skin remembers them, it's too new, knitted together. Numerous cuts and bruises, some from glass, some from... Merlin digs deeper and almost gets it, but Arthur tugs the foot away and pulls the socks back on.

“No. Fix Miranda's home.”

Merlin opens his eyes, a bit dazed. He went way deeper than he meant. It's the first time Arthur's allowed him to touch, though Merlin hasn't ever ordered him to let him before. Maybe he shouldn't have.

“Sorry,” Merlin says.

Arthur nods, looking straight ahead, so Merlin sits down and creates a tank, making it grow from the carpet in glass trees that spread their leaves, meet and mesh until they're solid. He puts a ceramic bow tie in as well as a TARDIS, and, thinking, a model of Hogwarts.

He looks sideways up at Arthur, but Arthur's still staring ahead, looking gormless. Merlin picks up the tank and leaves him to it. He goes to the kitchen and fills the tank, tipping Miranda out of the wineglass Lance put her in, into her new home. She immediately turns bright pink and swims upside down into Hogwarts.

“She's a weird fish, Merlin. I have to get moving soon, so we should do this stuff now,” Lance says, drying his hands on the teatowel. Merlin looks at Arthur, but Arthur's not moving or reacting, so Merlin leads Lance out to the office. Up the spiral staircase, up and up.

“I hate you, I hate stairs, I hate everything,” Lance pants as they finally reach the top level.

Merlin grins and opens the door. Lance has never been up here, hasn’t been to Merlin’s workshop since he moved it, and he freezes half way through the trap door, gazing goggle eyed around at the glass room. It's up above the mountains in Wales and the cloud is low today so it's veiling everything. Merlin built it to be like a tree house. He loves it.

“So, what have you got for me?” he says, rolling up plans to make space on the big table. He pulls the black velvet square over and taps it impatiently.

“Wow. Just... wow. I take it back. I love you, stairs and everything,” Lance mutters, kissing Merlin’s cheek.

“Time, Lance. Come on. As much fun as it is rolling time back it's not going to be something I can do today! Come on.”

Lance finally shuts his gaping mouth and climbs the rest of the way up, shutting the door. He comes over and pulls the package out of his pocket. He places it on the velvet, untying the string. The folds of soft paper are pulled aside, revealing a seal.

“Oh, crap!” Merlin says, stepping back.

There's magic rolling off the thing, like clouds. Merlin takes a tentative step back towards it, breathing out heavily.

“What the fuck is this thing, Lance?”

“Found it at one of Nimueh's hideouts. We're still coming across her stuff, even now. We don't know what it is, Mordred just said it felt powerful.”

Merlin looks up, sharply, and narrows his eyes. Lance's widen and he covers his mouth.

“Oops?”

“Mordred?”

“Yes? No?”

“No would be best. Why are you using Mordred?”

“Look, Josiah says she can control him. And it was only once! And he never left his cell!”

“Don't use him, Lance. I warned you about him.”

“Is there any way you could be... wrong?”

“Yes, easily. It's the future, it's not precise. But this is an almost certainty. It feels different. If he manages to get to Pendragon, we're finished!”

Lance smirks briefly, then it's gone.

“Pendragon's safe, I promise you.”

“You know I won't believe that until he's here under my roof. I know, he's got things to do. He can't just sit at home twiddling his thumbs like me.”

Merlin turns away in disgust, waving his arm to make a storm cloud burst over Snowdon.

“I'd hate to be your enemy, Merlin.”

“So why won't you let me at them?”

“Because while we are glad to have you on our side, we'd prefer you not lay waste to the entire world.”

“Don't be sarcastic!”

“You're most useful here, as you know. It's your plan we're following!”

“I was wrong!”

“No, you weren't. Just find out what that thing is and if we can use it, yeah?”

“And you don't use Mordred again. He's dangerous. He's a sorcerer and he's already got into Pendragon's mind once! You know it was Pendragon who set him free when he was a child! Who else could it have been? And why else, except for that? It's not like Pendragon was beyond his father's control at the time!”

“Gwen says you should give him more credit.”

“Gwen is stupid. Fine, she's not. I'll find out what this thing is.”

“I have to go, Merlin.”

Merlin feels rage well up and decides to have it out. He shoves with his mind and Lance flies through the window with a cry, falling through the clouds. Merlin sighs and makes sure he lands safely in the correct location, then turns back to the disc.

He can't work it out. He goes through every book in his collection, every memory of a book, contacts Gaius and Freya and Josiah and everyone, but no one knows what it is. He's sat in the living room, about a week later, idly tracing the pattern of a dove and the lettering around the side, from the object upstairs. He can't read it, with all his language skill and translations, he can't read it. He growls in frustration.

“Miranda's on the ceiling again,” Arthur says, doleful, from the kitchen.

Merlin twists his head to watch Arthur a moment. Arthur's sat with his head resting on his forearm, eyes distant.

“Come here, Arthur.”

Arthur shuffles over and sits beside Merlin, looking at the paper.

“What do you want?” Arthur asks.

“Nothing. Company.”

Arthur frowns and pulls the paper closer, tracing the picture with his finger, then running it over the letters.

“Two sides of a.. coin... the once and future... king.”

“Can you read that?” Merlin asks, excitement thrumming through his veins all of a sudden. He sits upright and leans in, eager.

“Yeah. I can read most languages,” Arthur says softly.

“What's this one?”

“An old version of what we speak. It's dialect, though. No one outside of... of Tintagel spoke this.”

“Tintagel! That's... so this is to do with Pendragon? Do you know the pattern, the dove? Is it a coat of arms?”

“I know it.”

“Can you tell me? It's important.”

“It's a seal. Igraine Pendragon's seal. Do you have it?”

“Yes! Yeah, oh chirst, we have Igraine Pendragon's seal. Best Uther never, ever hears about that, huh? We'd be toast!”

“It's a DuBois seal, from before her marriage. She took it from Tintagel, but she shouldn't have. It was... um... the magic was sewn into Tintagel. When she took it, she broke that. It tore the magic from her. When she had her child, the magic that would have saved her was gone. The high priestess who gave her the child was her lover and she was so grieved she took the seal and tried to break it, but it couldn't be destroyed.”

“So it has generations of magic, and Igraine's magic, and Nimueh's magic all bound up to it? And hatred and love and fealty, as well. Jesus. I have a bomb in my study.”

“You have a study?”

Arthur touches the paper again, eyes focusing and unfocusing. There's a plop as Miranda falls back into her tank, and Arthur gets up without getting an answer, going back to watching the fish. Merlin, buzzing with excitement, takes the escalator he never tells anyone he has up to his office and picks up the seal, awed to have it in his hand.

“Igraine Pendragon. Wow.”

He wonders how they can use this. He can't- his magic's too bound up in the earth to be able to utilise this, or to need it. It would destroy Gaius or Freya, let alone people like Gwen and Lance and Percival, who have so little latent magic. Merlin frowns and reaches out with his mind, looking for that magician capable or wielding this, who is on their side and who needs it. He passes over minds and space and time, searching memory and present moments, dipping into animals and people.

“Gilli!”

Of course. Merlin draws back to the office and searches through his papers and files and boxes, looking for the old ring he confiscated from Gilli. It drew too much attention, too much of a unique signature. This, though, this would be spread. So many people, so many minds, it has no specific footprint. At last he finds the ring and sets it on the table, muttering over it.

He's downstairs, waiting for Gilli, the next day. Arthur's fish gazing as usual, Merlin's going over strategies that Gwaine left for him, working Gilli and the seal into them. The doorbell goes just before lunch and Arthur does his usual flight of chaos, knocking over a hat rack (Merlin has no idea where that even came from, his only hat is a beanie that he keeps stuffed in his coat pocket) and a pile of books on his way. Merlin goes to let Gilli in, leading him right up to the office.

“Hello, Gilli. Glad to see you still around.”

“Yeah, thanks again for the save last time. I learnt a lot.”

“Damn right you did! Don't sweat it, you did right in the end.”

“I've been doing well. I got involved in the other side of things and it's been all right. I met Will through it.”

Gilli goes bright red and Merlin stifles a laugh. Will's always boasting about the crush Gilli has on him.

“I have a kind of thrilling thing for you, Gilli. You don't have to do it, of course. You know all the stuff, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Not a duty, an offer, wouldn't think less of me, blah blah.”

“Yes. What do you know about the Pendragons?”

“Um, Uther Pendragon banned magic. Though, it wasn’t widely allowed before that. He introduced the death penalty and registration and collaring. When the law for collars was announced, there was an uprising that actually lead to something and the Pendragons have been at war ever since. A ward of Uther’s broke away, Morgana, and shored up Nimueh’s side.”

“Igraine specifically.”

“Oh shit, you found something of hers?”

“Of the DuBois'.”

“Oh my god. Holy SHIT!”

“Yeah, I know, it's incredible.”

Merlin grins and opens the door, pointing Gilli to the table. The seal's still lying there, a book of Pendragon history open beside it.

“I can't find much about it, there's nothing in there. Igraine married Uther six years before their son was born, taking her from Tintagel. Tintagel was very magical and Uther forbade her ever going home. We always knew she must have brought some things from there, because she got in touch with Nimueh and paid her somehow, and Nimueh only accepts magic as payment. We had no idea she had this, too, though. It's her seal, the DuBois seal.”

“As in decades of magic. It wouldn't leave a footprint.”

“Exactly.”

“You think I can use it?”

“Yeah, obviously. You're magic is latent, but it's strong once tapped. I've tested it, remember? With the ring and without it. I've also tested Lance and others with the ring, and it didn't work quite like it did for you. Not for any of them.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Be part of things. The knights could use you, they only have a few magic users. Morgana's very tempting to us and the knights can't exactly use me as leverage, not the way things are. You think you were obvious with the ring, you should see the way Mrogana hones in on my footprint.”

“Can't you-”

“Obscure it? Yeah, a bit. We tried that, using me, in the beginning, but it was too hard. She still felt it. It took her longer to find me, but I was putting everyone in danger. Here no one can feel anything, the house is out of time and place. But outside its walls, I'm like a beacon.”

“I'd have to fight.”

“Yes, you would. I've adjusted some of the plans to include this, if you take it. You can take a look, if that would help?”

“I'd like to just say yes, but... I'd like to see the plans. And maybe think about it.”

“Of course. I'd think you a fool if you did otherwise. You won't have long, though. Come on, the plans are in the living-room.”

Merlin leads the way down, surprised to find Arthur sitting on the floor by the coffee table. He glances up and waves to Gilli before bending his head again.

“Um, this is Arthur. He's staying here. Safe house,” Merlin says.

“This is Gwen's Arthur? This man?”

“Yeah, why? Have you met?”

“Uh, no. I guess not. He's just not what I was expecting.”

Merlin narrows his eyes at Gilli, but whatever it is about Arthur's that's surprising, Gilli's not giving it away. Merlin looks around for the plans. He bites his lip when he realises Arthur's writing all over them. In red.

“Arthur... um... those were important.”

“I made them better. You're really bad at this. That one is obviously a trap- I showed you how to reverse it so it's your ambush instead. And did you not know that this one has passages? A much better way to sneak up. Honestly.”

Arthur hands the sheaf of paper over and stands up .To Merlin's surprise, he bows slightly to Gilli on his way passed.

“What the hell?” Merlin mutters

“Can I see those?”

Merlin looks over them, checking that Arthur hasn't... just... to Merlin's surprise, Arthur's red pen actually shows good ideas and strategies, real insight and knowledge. Merlin looks over them, increasingly excited. Arthur is really, really useful to have around, he decides.

“Can I see?” Gilli asks again, sounding amused. Merlin hands them over, “shall I ignore the red?”

“No, definitely not.”

Gilli smirks and runs his eye over the plans. He nods a few times, then rolls them up with a sigh, all brightness leaving his face giving him a pinched, worried look.

“Can you drop those with Gwaine?”

“I can. Is this what I'd be working on, if I took it?”

“Yes. That and similar.”

“I'll have to think about it. How long can I have?”

“Two days. That's a stretch. I hate to push you.”

“I'll let you know.”

Merlin lets Gilli out. Arthur doesn't emerge from his room for a whole day after that.

Merlin goes back to working on the water problem. He spends most of his time in the office, trying to work out the theory. When he finally gets a spell to try, he heads downstairs. He pauses in the living-room, then decides he needs an actual practise room, just in case it doesn't work. He usually builds one if he has guests, just in case. He holds out his hand, fingers splayed, to focus the magic (it had been a gimmick when he was a stage magician, Will had thought it up, but it had kind of stuck and now it’s a habit) and imagines the room, sweeping across it with his mind.

The spell doesn't work. Instead of water filling the bowl, a little kitten falls out of the air. Merlin groans. At least it's not another fish. He tries the spell again, wondering how on earth 'water' has become 'kitten'. This time, to his surprise, it starts raining. He turns in a circle, surprised, and holds out his hands. It might not be neat, but it is water!

The kitten scrambles, trying to stay dry, and Merlin collects the water in the bowl. He waves his hand to stop it raining and looks at the basin in his hands. The rain's gone, but the water's still here. He's managed this before, but when the rain stopped the water vanished. And it was salt water. He puts his hand in the bowl and shuts his eyes, sifting through it, looking for any discrepancies. None so far.

He brings the bowl to his lips and drinks, and it tastes like water, it goes down, it doesn't vanish. He pauses, excitement filling him. Has he really done it this time? He raises the bowl again, filling his mouth and charting every mineral. Suddenly, something sharp and hiss-y grips his leg and he yells, bowl flying out of his hands as he tries to get the kitten off. It clings, though, sharp claws going deeper.

Merlin yells, shaking his leg, twisting, trying to get it off. There's a crash and the door flies open, revealing Arthur in nothing but a pair of jeans, eyes wide, wielding a-

“Is that a _sword_?” Merlin asks.

Arthur takes him in, chest heaving, then his face furrows. He puts the sword down.

“Hold still.”

Merlin holds still, watching Arthur as he crouches, fingers gentle, voice soft and soothing. The kitten lets go and starts purring, curling into Arthur's fingers and chest. Arthur looks up at Merlin and raises an eyebrow.

“What were you trying to make this time?” he asks.

“Water. It worked! I did it!”

“And Mathilda is here because it worked, right?”

“I have no idea where- Mathilda, really? Another 'm'? Isn't that going to get confusing? There are already two of us!”

“His name's Mathilda.”

“His?”

“Yeah, he's a little boy-kitten.”

Arthur's focus shifts from Merlin to the kitten, and his face shifts from guarded to open, a smile spreading. He continues to stroke Mathilda's fur, humming softly, seemingly content to stay on the floor.

“I have no idea where he came from. I must have been thinking about kittens. My magic sometimes compensates. Anyway, I'll get Freya and Josiah and people to test it first, just in case the kitten thing is a side effect. But look!”

Merlin looks around for his bowl of water. Which is of course empty.

“Mathilda's all wet. No wonder he doesn't like you.”

“He does like me!”

Merlin wants to be liked by the kitten. He pouts at Arthur, but Arthur just gets to his feet and leaves. Merlin's about to turn away to try the spell again, but he catches a glimpse of Arthur's back and pauses. There are marks covering the skin, scars from knives and... Merlin reaches out.... a whip, but also remnants of dark magic, deep under the scars and skin, so dark. They move, itching to escape, patterns faltering. There are clear patterns, though. And that's Nimueh's mark.

“Arthur?”

Arthur turns back, face open, looking so completely innocent. Merlin shakes his head and waves his hand. He's not going to destroy that out of curiosity.

“Don't let Mathilda eat Miranda,” he says instead.

“He won't. They're going to be friends.”

Merlin watches Arthur place the kitten in front of the fish tank. Miranda, bright orange today and swimming just above the surface of the water, catches Mathilda's eye, but Mathilda doesn't pounce. Merlin goes to contact Lance and Gilli.

In his office, later, with Lance and Gilli, Merlin shows off his water spell.

“So, what do you think?”

Lance goes over the words carefully, then clinches his eyes tight shut and tries it out. It starts to rain on them and Lance looks chuffed with himself.

“So long as you don't need to see anything at the time. Fine. I still haven't worked out how you can make it stop, though, so it's not entirely useful yet,” Merlin admits.

“You'll get there. Do you think you could stop it now, just for funsies?” Lance says.

Merlin waves a hand and turns to Gilli, letting go the bubble they've been practising in.

“What have you decided about the seal?”

“I'll do it. Gwaine says it would be good, helpful.”

“Good! Great! Okay, so I'll hand it over to you here and drop you inside HQ or whatever you're calling it now, that way you'll be shielded. If you go now you can help out with the raid, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, jump out of the window.”

Gilli takes the seal, wrapped up again, and looks uncertainly around. Merlin remembers he has no windows that open, and pushes Gilli through the glass. Lance shivers dramatically.

“I hate it when you shove me out of the window. Such a drama queen. Gwaine wants to know who scribbled all over his precious plans, by the way.”

“Arthur. He's got all sorts of hidden talents, including de-kittening.”

“That's what Gwaine was afraid of. Arthur can't see any more of those plans. Gwen's orders.”

“Why not? He's got loads of ideas!”

“I don't ask questions when she's all battle warrior.”

“Fine! No more plans for Arthur. Are you staying?”

“No. And I probably won't be seeing you for a while. Gwen's going to be using me.”

Merlin stops. Gwen's elite are always right on the edge, far away from Merlin's aid. He never sees any of them. He hugs Lance for a long time before letting him go.

A week later, Arthur's lying on the floor playing with Mathilda, and Merlin trips over him. He opens his mouth to apologise and sits up, but then he’s hit by a wall of sensual information. Smells, sounds, tastes, none of them his own, he’s sure. He shuts his eyes against it, but it just drags him deeper. Pain, ringing through skin but not his skin. Fire, heat. Whip. _Arthur_.

Merlin doesn’t try to pull away, he’s too deep. He doesn’t try to dig himself in, though. He just waits it out, letting the information wash over him, through him. He watches the scoring of Arthur’s flesh, feels the black magic itching, something deeper, Nimueh. Morgana. And someone else, someone scarred, someone Arthur doesn’t like. Then the information is washed away by pain, by screaming agony, and then by mind numbing blankness. 

When Merlin comes round Arthur’s sat against the sofa, holding Mathilda and stroking her soft fur, eyes wide and worried and fixed on Merlin. He smiles when Merlin opens his eyes, tentatively. 

“Are you alright?” Arthur asks. 

“Yes,” Merlin says, shifting to sit beside Arthur. Arthur shifts so there’s space between them.

“I didn’t want to touch again. It made you…”

“You were tortured,” Merlin says, stunned, “they took you and… do you remember?”

“Nope. Not meant to, they say not to. I remember some things, some I don’t know. I know what Gwen told me.”

“They tried to take away your free will,” Merlin says, feeling the dark of it under Arthur’s skin, the terror of that, “what a thing to do to someone.”

“Gwen said they were doing experiments, because I’m special, because I was born differently.”

“That adds up,” Merlin says, “you don’t remember?”

“No. Only, when you touch me, it’s like sensation. It hurts.”

“Just me?”

“Magical people. You’re the worst.”

“I’m the mostest powerfulest,” Merlin says, laughing. 

“You’re the mostest uselessest.”

“I made water.”

“It makes it unclear, to think. When you touch me. Like I’m very stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, you just think different.”

“I didn’t used to.”

“So? Now you do. Who cares? You’re still clever enough, right? You de-kittened me.”

Arthur smiles, stroking a thumb over Mathilda’s head. The kitten seems to sense that Arthur’s crisis is over, he wriggles down and goes to watch Miranda, pacing the tank along side her, hissing and mewling. 

“Is he going to eat her?” Merlin asks. 

“They’re just talking,” Arthur says, “friends fight, sometimes, and Miranda got stuck in Mathilda’s hair when you were somewhere else and turned him maroon, which Mathilda didn’t like.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, “our animals are very strange.”

“Your tea-pot is strange. Your animals are just born differently than the others.”

“What’s wrong with the tea pot?”

“It sings to me when I try to make tea and pretends that the hot water scolds it. It isn’t very nice of it, to make a joke like that. Pain isn’t a joke.”

“I didn’t know the tea pot did that.”

Arthur goes to get the tea pot, and sure enough it starts to sing. It sings bawdy nursery rhymes. Merlin makes a bubble of cold water float over and pops it inside and the tea pot shrieks and, in a high, camp voice, starts up complaining about how hot it is. 

“It’s cold water,” Arthur says severely, “and you don’t have nerves. Do they have nerves, Merlin?”

“Who?”

“The tea pot- do they have nerves?”

“No.”

“Do the thing,” Arthur says, and wriggles his fingers. 

Merlin squints and checks that his tea pot doesn’t have nerves. It doesn’t. It vibrates, which Arthur translates as laughter. 

“I’m sitting on the floor having a conversation with a tea pot,” Merlin says, “this is insane.”

“I like your insane house. I found a picture of a dragon yesterday.”

“You did? Huh.”

Arthur puts the tea pot away and takes Merlin to see the dragon. It’s a huge mural spread across a hallway, and it moves when Arthur runs a finger over it’s scales. 

“Their scales are warm,” Arthur says, “feel.”

“Their? What’s this ‘their’ and ‘they’?”

“It’s a gender neutral pronoun. Tea pots and dragons don’t have gender. Do they? Maybe they do. I never asked. Maybe that’s why the tea pot doesn’t like me.”

“I think it- I think _they_ do like you, they never sang anything to me.”

“Oh. Feel.”

Merlin runs a thumb over one scale and then snatches his hand back when magic fizzles and spits. Best not bring a dragon into the hallway, not a three dimensional one, by accident. Arthur nods and strokes the scales again, humming happily. 

“I remember my sister was there,” Arthur says, “that’s how they got me.”

“Yeah?”

“She hurt me, with a knife. And they did things to me. Not just the mind one. They wanted something from inside my head.”

“What?”

“I dunno. I can’t feel people anymore, though. I used to have colours and feel people and things.”

Merlin frowns, and then frowns harder. 

“You were an empath,” he asks, though it’s not a question. 

Arthur doesn’t answer. Arthur. Gilli’s reaction. An empath. Tortured by his sister… Merlin has Pendragon in his safe-house. 

“I want fish fingers for dinner, so we have to put Miranda in the bathroom so she doesn’t have to watch us cook them.”

Merlin has Arthur Pendragon in his house, and he’s simple. 

 

Merlin calls everyone, but the only person who turns up is Freya. She’s sitting up in his workshop when he goes up there, the next day. She’s pretty much the only person his wards like enough to let through. Something about her magic being kind of lovely, according to his magic. He doesn’t think about how well behaved his magic has been since Arthur’s been here. 

“Hello Merlin,” Freya says, smiling shyly. 

“You look good,” Merlin says, giving her a brief hug and letting his magic envelope her for longer. 

“Merlin, that tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says, drawing back, grinning, unrepentant. 

“You’re the most dangerous weapon we have, and you use your magic to tickle people. Good to know.”

“Wouldn’t it be worse if I used it to do… bad things?”

“I think the fact you can’t even think of anything is adorable.”

“It is not. I can too think of bad things.”

“Right. Like, how Arthur Pendragon is beyond our help and can no longer help us and is basically now a danger to everything? The thing you’re definitely not supposed to know about.”

“Why can’t I know? Why don’t I know? I can keep him much safer if I know this.”

Merlin sits at his work table and pulls a piece of weaponry he’s been working on towards him, absently translating a piece of the text scrawled across the metal.

“Seriously, your magic tries to fix things.”

“Why shouldn’t it fix him?”

“Because he’s not broken. His mind’s a bit crossed because of what was done to him, but that isn’t magic.”

“There’s definitely a shit load of dark magic in him, Frey,” Merlin says, pen slipping to scratch across the paper. 

“Yeah. Yes, there is. Nimueh and Morgana and Morgause have all tortured him, extensively, and they all tried to track him.”

“So why can’t I try to fix that? I can at least remove the dark magic.”

“If you do that, Morgana will… the amount of magic they shoved into him… it… Morgana tried to create a bond with him.”

“Holy shit, you can’t do something like that.”

“Well, technically not. But with some very dark magic you can create a connection, especially if one party is a seer.”

“She can read his thoughts?”

“No. The amount of magic obscures things, and anyway it’s not exactly a steady connection. It’s more that we don’t know what he dreams and if he’s asleep she might… take that?”

“Right, right, because seer, dream walker, and his conscious is off line, and she’s his sister so they’re sort of linked anyway, and he’s an empath so- why has it never come up that Pendragon is an empath?”

“Wait, what? He’s not. As far as we know. Has he… is he?”

“Oh. I thought that had been what he meant. Clearly not, though.”

“Right.”

“Why did you all think my magic wouldn’t try and fix him if I didn’t know who he was?”

“Has it?”

“Sort of, once or twice. He drew away.”

“And you stopped. Without hesitation. But, Pendragon is a huge piece of our puzzle, our war, he wins our battles. Fixing him would be a huge help, right? And you could deal with Morgana finding you, you could protect Arthur and escape and re-start and he’d be back. His consent to your helping him is less important. Tell me the thought hasn’t occurred to you.”

“..maybe,” Merlin admits. 

He translates another line of text. 

“Your magic is instinctual. It’s hard to stop. We need to channel it elsewhere, so it doesn’t… act out the scenario.”

“Why not? It’s true, I could do all that you just said.”

“Perhaps. But Arthur could not. It was my decision to have him sequestered away here, rather than fixing him. Before I was a magician in your battle I was a doctor and I treated a lot of patience with mental health problems and half of Arthur’s issue is PTSD and fear and- they broke him, Merlin. They took away his free will, for Christ’s sake! Who would do that to a man? They took away his will to fight, his will to live, his will to stop them, and then he had to just lie there and let them have whatever they wanted from him.”

“Jesus.”

“That’s just the little I got from talking to him, for almost a month. And half of it is conjecture. He doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t go near it. I mean, he hardly talks at all, right?”

“He talks to the fish and the kitten. He’s quite a chatter box, with them,” Merlin says, grinning, thinking about Arthur telling Miranda the story of the fisherman and the magic fish who granted wishes before assuring her that if she ever granted him a wish he’d be much more wise about it and wish for something for her, too.

“He has a fish, and a kitten?” 

“Yup. Accidental water creation side effect pets. Awcseps.”

“You just made that up. It’s awful.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Channelling your magic. Talk to Arthur, if you can, or get him to talk to your Ascs- the animals. Find out if there’s anything he does want fixed. Perhaps start with things outside of himself, like things in his room and about the house.”

“He liked a picture of a dragon.”

“Oh? You have a pi- right. Weird house, this. Anyway. Don’t talk about it as fixing, because that’ll set him right off if there’s any of him left inside there,” Freya grins, slightly, then sobers, “in terms of you. Your magic will want to focus on Arthur. Let it, but don’t let it go beyond your weird fawning stuff.”

“I do not fawn.”

“I had an arm chair follow me around for a whole day when you thought I was tired because you weren’t paying attention and didn’t realise it was doing that.”

“Right.”

“You should also… I suppose you like him? Most people seem to, though few know who he is.”

“Gilli knows!” Merlin says, realising it, “oh the bastard, he must have found it all hilarious.”

“I didn’t know that Gilli knows, and I probably shouldn’t. Honestly, Merlin, I swear one of the reasons we keep you locked up here is you inability to understand ‘limited information dissemination’.”

“Oh screw off,” Merlin mutters, “Oh look, this axe is supposed to split men’s hearts. Can’t most do that?”

“Probably means figuratively.”

“Ooh, nice. Better be careful when I get to testing. Anything else?”

“You should try to channel stuff into liking him, being friends, rather than… try to stop yourself thinking, even casually, of him as ‘Pendragon’, heir to the whatever we have now, freedom fighter, and get yourself thinking of him as ‘Arthur’, man who talks to fish.”

Merlin snorts, laughter bubbling up in him. He shouldn’t have too much trouble doing that. He already thinks of Arthur as ‘Arthur’, man who talks to fish. Man who is good with animals, who has quirky likes and dislikes, who makes Merlin relax, who finds pictures of dragons in places Merlin didn’t know his magic had created, who makes fish fingers into the dinner of the century, who has a soft heart and- 

“That could be a problem, after all,” Merlin murmurs, wincing. 

“Liking him? Have you already fallen out with the boy? He’s actually quite nice, though Pendragon was frightening when he was fighting. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen him, surrounded, fighting for your life.”

“Your life?”

“My life.”

“No, I do like him. Perhaps… I wouldn’t admit this to anyone not you, you know.”

“Oh. Oh! You like like him? Ohhh. Uh oh.”

“He’s simple! It’s bad!”

“Hey, he’s not simple. His mind is trying to process some awful things and it misfires now and then, the connections aren’t obvious, especially the emotional connections. He’s not simple, not stupid. Though, I would be much happier saying whether or not he’s equipped to make decisions like that after I see him. Gwen coddled him a lot and made him into a bit of a child, and he wasn’t equipped. I could stay for dinner.”

“I’m not making you macaroni cheese.”

“Please?”

“Fine.”

Freya laughs and hops down off the stool she was perched on, confiscates Merlin’s work and drags him downstairs. Arthur, lying on the sofa with Mathilda, falls off and squishes the cat, knocks three coffee cups off the table and bolts. He comes to a stop in front of Freya, though, and eyes her warily. 

“Lady of the lake,” he says. 

“It was a swimming pool,” Freya says, sounding like this is something she’s repeated often, “and I am not a lady.”

“Gwaine-“ Arthur says, then stops, frowning, and starts to shiver, “Gwaine.”

“I’m making macaroni cheese,” Merlin says, derailing that. 

Arthur perks up and trots after him to the kitchen, getting up onto the counter and watching Merlin. He is a bit of a big kid, really. Merlin’s fondness for him in this mood is much different to the attraction to him in the quiet moments they have. 

“I want another pet, Merlin. We need a forth ‘m’ to make up the square,” Arthur says. 

“Oh yeah?”

“I think… puppy,” Arthur says. 

Merlin looks up and Arthur’s eyes are calculating, amused. Still with the innocence and delight, but with a shade of mischief, too. 

“Stop it,” Merlin says, “I’m not going to cater to you.”

“I want a puppy, though. A golden one. With long hair. Golden retriever, I think. And her name is… Mithrandir.”

“That’s a wizard from the Lord of the Rings,” Freya tells Merlin.

“She lives in a really dark place,” Arthur says, eyes glazing, “with a dragon. A white, broken one, not like yours. Not like Kilgarah.”

“Wait, is this dog an actual, already alive dog you’re thinking of?”

“Yes, like Miranda and Mathilda,” Arthur says, as if it’s obvious.

“But they just came, side effects of spells,” Merlin says. 

“Mhmm. Came to be with you, cus you’re Emrys.”

“What?”

“Arthur,” Freya says, moving between them, cutting Merlin off, “tell me about where they came from.”

“Oh, Miranda just came from a fish shop.”

“And Matilda?”

“He’s Mordred’s,” Arthur says, ducking his head, eyes sliding to Merlin. 

“What?” Merlin says, louder this time. 

“Why do you say she’s Mordred’s?” Freya asks, gentler. 

“He. Morded… in my head. Like… like.”

“Jesus. No wonder…” Freya says, turning to Merlin, “you’re right. Can’t use him. You have… No, Arthur, you can’t have Mithrandir live here. And Mathilda should come away with me.”

“Mordred,” Arthur says, affronted, “is not a baddy! Merlin, let me keep Mathilda. Freya doesn’t remember he’s a boy kitten.”

“Can’t have Mordred’s cat here,” Merlin says, “sorry. Bad, or good, or in between, he hasn’t picked a side yet and his cat is hardly likely to be just any old cat, is he?”

“Just a kitten,” Arthur insists.

Arthur gets up and picks up Mathilda, bringing him over to show them, then he takes the cat away and storms to his room. 

“Still a big kid,” Freya says, “but perhaps he’s reaching his teenage years.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Yeah, sorry. Too soon? I think he can probably make choices. Even if they are limited to cats. I’d suggest sticking to friendship, though, for now. Let him discover, if he’s going to discover… you know.”

“Sex.”

“I should go. I need to take the cat and if I stay Arthur won’t be able to hate me so much and might hate you, and you know your magic has a short temper.”

“It’s not a separate entity.”

“It’s instinctive. It’s subconscious.”

“Fine. Steal Arthur’s kitten and run away. Coward.”

Freya grins at him, shakes herself, and changes. Mathilda comes out, Arthur on his heels, and goes straight to Freya. 

“Wow. Can we have this cat, then, Merlin?” Arthur asks, face to face with Freya. 

It’s disturbing, Arthur face to face with the monster side of her, a giant cat with wings towering over him. Freya has a degree of control over her power, but it’s not safe to treat this side of her the same as the other. 

“This one isn’t a pet,” Merlin says, “Come over here.”

“It’s gonna take Mathilda,” Arthur says, but he comes over and stands beside Merlin, watching sadly as Freya picks up Mathilda by the scruff of the neck.

Merlin opens up the roof for her and she leaves with a great beating of wings, and then there’s just him and Arthur and a fish who is currently just a normal goldfish. Arthur looks at the now restored ceiling for a while, then gets up onto the counter again. 

“Mordred isn’t what you think him,” Arthur says, “he’s a good man. He saved my life.”

Merlin turns, surprised, and is faced with not the Arthur he’s used to, but someone much less blurred. 

“He’s been in Pendragon’s head,” Merlin says, remembering Gwen’s warning about not telling Arthur if he worked out his identity just in time.

“Many people have been in Pendragon’s head,” Arthur says, quietly, “I suppose.”

“Is he an empathy, do you know? Like you?” Merlin asks, feeling a bit like this isn’t quite ethically sound, but asking anyway.

“I… I…” Arthur frowns, and blurs again, coming up childish, “he hurts, sometimes.”

That’s all Merlin is going to get, so he drops it and gives Arthur a head of broccoli to chop up as a distraction. Merlin isn’t sure he even wants to know what Arthur means when he says that Pendragon hurts. And he definitely doesn’t want to know the ins and outs of Arthur’s current identity. He doesn’t even know if Arthur knows he is Pendragon. It’s better that way, easier to keep them apart as two people if Arthur does. If he has to pretend for Arthur. 

“I always liked broccoli,” Arthur says, “It’s like trees.”

“We could get a puppy, one who isn’t Mithrandir, who doesn’t live with a dragon?”

“Can I go find one?” Arthur asks, eager. 

Merlin considers it. He doesn’t go out, really at all. As far as the Knights know he doesn’t go out ever. But, he has done it, and he can do it more or less securely. And he really misses being outside. Not just out on a balcony, but outside. If he doesn’t use magic, if he uses the staff he has upstairs that no one, not even the Knights, know about, no one should be able to track him. 

“Alright,” Merlin says, “Where does one go about looking for a puppy?”

“Swansea,” Arthur says, immediately. 

“Right. Is this another specific dog?”

“Nope.”

Merlin laughs, because it really, really is- Arthur’s a hopeless liar when he’s excited. But, he gives in and allows the lie. 

There are only so many ways you can get away with wandering around a city with a wooden staff with a crystal set in it. Merlin decides to age himself, as that will disguise him a bit, too. He does it in the kitchen, not really thinking, and he’s about to go get the staff when Arthur comes in. He looks a bit dejected, but he doesn’t even react to Merlin being old. 

“I miss Mathilda, Merlin. Can we go get him back from the big cat?”

“No,” Merlin says, “we’re going to get a puppy, remember?”

“Oh.”

Merlin goes to get his staff, deciding that Arthur’s lack of reaction is because Arthur looks at people differently, anyway. He doesn’t see what they look like, probably. Just takes it for granted that they’re present or not. Maybe some of the empath is still in him. After all, he finds Merlin wherever he is. 

“Merlin?” 

Merlin spins, tripping over himself. It hurts much more to topple to the floor as an old man than it does as a young one, so Merlin can only watch from his sore knees as Arthur climbs into the workroom and peers around. 

“hi,” Merlin says, “don’t touch that! Actually, don’t touch anything.”

Arthur pulls his fingers slowly away from the healing crystal. Merlin shivers, because he almost let him. It would have been an unfortunate accident, nothing Merlin could do, Arthur’s curiosity. He could have got away with that, easily. And then they could work Pendragon into the plans again. It’s all very well, gaining magical power on their side, people like Gilli finally finding the courage to fight for a more peaceful, even society where neither magical people or non-magical people are persecuted, but it would be really helpful to have Arthur- Pendragon. To have Pendragon back. 

“So many windows,” Arthur says, pressing a hand to the glass, “there were no windows, when they had me. I was in the dark, trapped. I like it up here, there’s a lot of light.”

“Yeah. There is. You want something like this? A room with light?”

“You can make me one?” Arthur asks, eyes boring into Merlin, searching, examining what he finds. 

“Yes, easily.”

Merlin wiggles his fingers and indicates a door, following Arthur through into an almost identical room. This one, though, is furnished with a desk and some comfy furniture. Merlin hadn’t realised it was doing so, but his magic has covered the ceiling in a pattern of stars and each star lights up in the dark. Merlin can sense that, though there’s no sign of electrical wiring. 

“No dragons,” Arthur says, running a finger over the desk, “I only know two dragons. We’ll bring Kilgarah alive, soon. With my puppy and your fish and Mordred’s cat, and you. Four ‘m’s, and a dragon, and me. And Morgana. The fifth column.”

“What are you talking about?” Merlin asks, worried by the connections in the disconnected speech. 

“I can make my own plans. Now that Gwaine has told me not to play with his. He makes bad plans, Merlin. He should let Mordred help, Mordred knows a lot of things.”

“He can’t let Mordred help.”

“Why not?”

“I have forbidden it. Mordred has a destiny that cannot be changed.”

“Destinies denies it’s density.”

“What?”

“Anagrams. Destiny is just ‘I end’ in a ‘sty’.”

“That’s too many letters.”

“Destiny is just another assortment of letters.”

“Right. So is all language.”

Arthur wanders to the window, tapping on the glass as if to check if it’s real. He seems done with his discussion of destiny. 

“Shall we go get Moloch, now?” Arthur asks. 

“As in the God of the underworld? From Sleepy Hollow? You watch too much TV.”

“Come on.”

Arthur pulls Merlin’s arm and drags him back to the workshop and right over to the window, and for the first time Merlin experiences what it’s like for his magic to shove him through the glass. He yelps and grips Arthur’s shoulder tightly and lands in a heap instead of on his feet, even though, technically, he hasn’t fallen from anywhere. Before he can gather himself there’s a hoard of worried shoppers asking Arthur if his ‘grandpa’ is okay. 

“He’s alright,” Arthur says, “he just forgot that feet work.”

Merlin gets to his feet and scowls around until they’re left in peace, then leans pointedly on his staff and scowls at Arthur, too, then feels himself begin to tremble, finely, all over. He hasn’t lost control of his magic like that for years. 

“Come on,” Arthur says, oblivious, “this way.”

Merlin follows him. They walk for miles, up and down random seeming side streets, peering into alleys. Merlin focuses on obscuring them from prying eyes, making them seem innocuous. Arthur focusses on finding a dog called Moloch and, eventually, on finding a chippy. They sit on the street on rackety metal chairs digging into packets of hot chips, Arthur bending over his dinner and watching the street while stuffing his face. 

“Who taught you manners? Why are you eating like that?” Merlin asks, irritated at a bit of soggy chip flicking into his hair, again. 

“They might come take it, here,” Arthur says, not looking away from his examination of the passers-by, of whom there are very few. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Merlin says, “my staff has eyes.”

Arthur looks at the staff for a very long time before nodding and moving his focus from the street to his food. 

“I’m not dumb, am I, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

“No, I don’t think so. A bit odd, sometimes, but not stupid.”

“No. I didn’t think so, either. I wasn’t sure, for a while, though. They tried to take… I played chess, with my sister, and every time she took a piece she took a piece of me, too. All those nice strategies. But, she doesn’t know that I actually kept ‘em.”

Arthur grins and taps the side of his head, looking gleeful and a bit smug, a bit of chip hanging off his lip. Merlin passes him a napkin and shuts his eyes to check they’re still alone. 

“Can’t talk about that here, Arthur. Sorry.”

Arthur nods and gets to his feet, starting off again. Merlin catches up with him only when he stops to peer into a pet shop window, eyes bright. 

“I want to buy things,” Arthur says.

“I can make most of these,” Merlin says.

“I have money, I think. Don’t I?”

“Probably. Most people do.”

Arthur starts turning out his pockets and turns up a ten pound note, looking proud of himself. Merlin waits outside while Arthur picks out a bag of treats and a collar. 

“We don’t need a lead,” Arthur says, setting off once more, “we’ll live in your house. We’re nearly there, so soon you can sit down and not have bad knees anymore.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Arthur’s as good as his word, though. Half an hour later he ducks down an alley and crouches, opening the bag of treats, and then stills and waits. A puppy crawls out from under a bin and takes the treat on Arthur’s palm then darts back under. Arthur does this three times before scooping the dog up and bringing him to Merlin. 

“I found her,” Arthur says, “This is Moloch. Moloch, this is Merlin. Be nice to him, okay?”

Merlin threads his hand into the puppy’s hair, remembers himself just in time to channel the magic through the staff, and quickly checks that there’s no heartbroken child looking for Moloch. Who is, apparently, a girl. 

“Well, she doesn’t belong to anyone. Pass her to me and pick up your things, and we can go home.”

Arthur gets the treats and the collar from the alley, but he doesn’t pass the puppy to Merlin. Merlin tries not to feel hurt at the lack of trust, but there is an unquenchable pang. Arthur stands next to him, smiling down at the puppy. 

“She’ll like you eventually, Merlin,” Arthur assures, “she’s just scared because you made her all prickly.”

“Oh. Sorry. I was making sure we weren’t stealing someone’s dog.”

“Yeah. But she’s a dog, so as far as she knows, she doesn’t ever belong to anyone except herself so she doesn’t know what you were doing. Come on, I’m hungry.”

“You just had chips!”

Merlin opens up the gate at the end of the alley, though. Most people have to come to a pre-arranged entrance, and Merlin’s glad that the staff and his magic are both under his control this time. He retreats to his work room and leaves Arthur with the dog for a bit. 

Arthur tries to cook food and nearly sets fire to the kitchen. 

Merlin finds that Moloch, soon shortened to Mol, does indeed like him. She bounces up the stairs to his office with him, and huddles on the escalator with him, and rolls about under his feet and lies very still when he has to do magic. She’s a good dog and good company and Merlin has no regrets about going to find her. And when Freya asks where she came from, Merlin just shrugs and mutters Arthur’s name. 

He’s working on creating a shield so he can test the axe that ‘splits men’s hearts’, Mol rolling around with a piece of kindling outside the shield, when Arthur slips in from his ‘light room’ as he calls it. 

“Hello Moloch,” Arthur says, sitting cross legged and playing with her while Merlin works. 

He waits until Merlin pauses in his examination of the protection before speaking again. 

“I have an idea,” he says. 

“Have you been talking to Kilgarah?” Merlin asks. 

That was something he was surprised about. Apparently, the picture of the dragon talks back. And sometimes migrates around the walls until it’s in Arthur’s ceiling. 

“No. He’s too talkative, I told him he isn’t allowed in my light room until you bring him alive. At which point he’ll be too big to fit, so he won’t be able to come be disturbing anyway.”

“Uh-huh. What’s your idea, then?”

“I had the idea that kissing you might be nice.”


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same WARNINGS!!!! as previous chapter.

“Oh yeah?” Merlin says, muttering under his breath to make the shield three dimensional so he can step inside it, which he does. 

“Yes. I saw it, on TV like. And I would also like to have sex with you, but that had better wait till we have kissed and had dinner.”

Merlin’s magic does something… he’s not sure exactly what it is, but there’s a kind of explosion when Arthur mentions ‘sex’ and because of the shield it’s an explosion that reflects back at Merlin and he steps out, dazed, eyebrows singed. Arthur giggles at him and rolls about with Mol, apparently unphased by it at all. 

“I didn’t know you even know what sex is!” Merlin says, a little scandalised because he still tends to think of Arthur as childish and young. 

“Of course I know what sex is, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says, “I have a pecker, don’t I?”

“And the reason I didn’t think you knew stuff like that is because you call it a ‘pecker’!”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Penis, cock, dick, mini-Merlin-“

Arthur cuts him off by roaring out a laugh, which Merlin thinks is fair enough seeing as that was the aim of the last. 

“Mini-Arthur,” Arthur says, still breathless with laughter. 

“Do you know about sex from TV, too?” Merlin asks. 

“Nope. Gwen told me a bit, because I was masturbating in her livingroom and that is inappropriate, even if it’s because you’re bored out of your skull and kind of thought she was out.”

“Ah.”

“Also, I have had sex.”

“But you haven’t kissed anyone?”

“I probably have, but I don’t remember. I remember sex, though. I had sex with Gwaine. I know, because I recognised him on the plans and remembered. I didn’t kiss him, I don’t think. I was… there was… someone was dead, I think.”

“Oh.”

“Have you had sex with Gwaine?”

“No! Jesus, he’s a walking talking STD!”

“Nope, he’s clean. He checks regular.”

“Why do you know that?”

“His plans, remember? He’s all over them.”

“Christ. You are an empath,” Merlin says, realising that his theory is more than just that. 

If Arthur can feel people through objects he’s a pretty powerful one, too. Arthur yelps and Merlin comes back to himself, and quickly draws his magic away from Arthur’s back where it was looking for Nimueh’s mark. 

“Why’d you do that?” Arthur asks, “can you get her out?”

“No,” Merlin says, more or less truthfully. 

“You can get her out, you can!” Arthur says, “You can get her out of me. All of them.”

“I can’t fix you.”

“I’m not broken. You can get them out, though. From under my skin. My sister dreams me.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Arthur shrugs, then, letting it go. He gets up to his feet and leaves, Moloch in his arms. Merlin retreats to his fortified bubble to have a quiet meltdown. 

Arthur doesn’t bring kissing up again until eight days later. He finds Merlin in the kitchen, this time, Mol running about his feet. Arthur picks the puppy up first and then comes over and leans into Merlin’s back, kissing his neck. 

Merlin shivers, dark trembling on the edge of his magic, deep lines of pain and whips and torture springing into him, piercing him. He turns in Arthur’s arms and takes his mouth, desperate to be rid of the taste, deeper and deeper, banishing it with Arthur. Arthur’s lips, Arthur’s breath, life, taste, tongue, mouth. Taking everything. Giving himself in return. 

“That was nice,” Arthur says, wandering off to the livingroom, taking the fish bowl and the puppy and talking to them instead of Merlin, till dinner. 

He starts kissing Merlin goodnight, taking anything Merlin offers; little strings of escaping magic, emotion, breath, sounds, tastes; anything. Everything. Merlin takes in return, he takes as much as he can to drown out the chorus of magic and consciousness that make Arthur up until he’s bare, just Arthur there. Just Arthur, which is painful enough when one of you is an empath and one is a warlock, sharing emotion and echoes of thoughts. Arthur’s mind is a painful thing to brush. 

Merlin starts taking it for granted that they’ll kiss, and he starts kissing Arthur hello when he wanders past. He starts wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist when he comes to watch Merlin cook. He starts lying on the sofa in Arthur’s light room instead of lying on the floor under his work table, to do his thinking. He starts sitting with Arthur, talking to Kilgarah. Merlin can’t hear him, which he doesn’t understand, but Arthur sometimes tells him what the dragon says. 

It’s a very odd way to date someone, seeing as neither of them can really leave the house. 

They’re eating dinner, Arthur talking to Miranda and Merlin trying to work out who he knows who’s powerful enough to be subjected to the axe upstairs. He’s done all the tests he can without actually trying the weapon out, but he’s not really comfortable letting it be used in battle until he has a better idea of what it does. So far as he can work out it divides what’s in a man, or a woman (archaic neutrality in language). He’s not sure whether it’s arbitrary or if you can direct it. Whether you can split a man’s loyalty or love or whether the axe just goes to work. He’s also not sure what use it would be. 

“Merlin, don’t drink that,” Arthur says. 

Merlin looks down at the glass he was about to absently take a sip of water from and finds Miranda, vertical in the water, wriggling happily and changing colour constantly. 

“Huh,” Merlin says, putting the glass down and taking Arthur’s instead. 

“I’ve been thinking about your axe, Merlin,” Arthur says. 

“Yeah, so have I.”

“I think I can do something about it, Merlin.”

The repetition of his name is not a good sign. Merlin looks at Arthur and focusses. 

“Yes?”

“Well, you said you can’t get them out of me. That axe could, I reckon. You know a lot about Morgana’s magic and Nimueh’s magic, and Morgause is not that powerful except through practise so she’s easy to get a grip on. If the axe works like you think, directed by the user, then you could test it out on me and get rid of them. And then I would be more useful again.”

“You’re very useful,” Merlin says, absently, concentrating on keeping his magic from doing something stupid because there’s a bit of him that thinks that’s a wonderful idea, “you’re useful to me.”

“I think it should be a considera-“ Arthur’s stopped by the doorbell ringing wildly. 

He leaps up and dashes out, taking Mol with him, managing not to break anything this time. Merlin goes to let whoever it is, waiting until they’re inside to check seeing as it sounds like an emergency. He looks through the glass and sees Leon, holding up a very bloody looking Gwaine. Merlin quickly lets them into the house-proper and gets under Gwaine’s free arm, helping Leon carry him in.

“This way,” Merlin says, waving a hand to create a door to the room he uses for medical needs, “is Gaius coming?”

“No, he’s busy. You’ll have to sort this,” Leon says. 

“Any information you can give me?”

“It was magic and steel,” Leon says, “they cut right through his armour. He was wearing the stuff you put a charm on, so they must have run into Morgana or Nimueh. I wasn’t with him, and no one else came back.”

“Percival?”

“Is missing.”

“Perce…” Gwaine mumbles, eyes squinting open. 

Merlin and Leon exchange a grim look. 

“I have to go,” Leon says, agitated. 

“No, not yet, you’ll get killed like this,” Merlin snaps, pushing Leon into a chair, “you’re shaking. Arthur!” 

Merlin calls automatically, not really thinking, because it’s what he does when he gets into a jam with his magic, or with the fish, or with Mol, or with Kilgarah, or with the house, or with anything, these days. Arthur ducks into the room, Mol pressed to his chest, eyes wide. He sees Gwaine and tips over to the table, putting his hand right against the widest tear in his flesh, hand going red fast. 

“Gwaine,” Arthur mumbles. 

“I have him,” Merlin says, pointing Leon out. 

He watches, out of the corner of his eye, as Arthur and Leon embrace and talk quietly and then Arthur shows Leon out. Merlin doesn’t even wonder what he’s doing, a shard of his magic trails after Arthur and works the portals for him, and Merlin barely notices it. He focusses on Gwaine, wishing he had a better grip on healing magic. 

“Is he dead?” Arthur asks, coming back in, peering into Gwaine’s face. 

“Not yet,” Merlin says, “Shit, I need Gaius! Or Alice. Or someone, I’m useless at healing!”

“Do it the normal way,” Arthur suggests. 

Merlin calms himself, taking the towel Arthur offers and pressing it to Gwaine’s chest. He lets his focus dip deeper, lets his magic heal the damage inside Gwaine, heal his torn lungs and where his rib’s perforated, and then he slowly knits skin together until he can’t. Then he takes a needle and thread and stitches the rest, binding the wounds, cleaning as he goes. 

“He’s still breathing,” Arthur says. 

“Yes,” Merlin agrees, “he’s still breathing.”

He moves Gwaine from the table to a bed and sits, waiting for his magic to reach out again, straining to heal the damage. He sits all night, healing when he can, easing when he can’t, helping along sleep and restful dreams. He nods off and when he wakes it’s to quiet voices.

“He knows.”

That’s Arthur. 

“Knows what?”

Gwaine. Gwaine’s awake, that’s good. 

“Who I am.”

“I don’t even know who you bloody are, beyond ‘Arthur’ and ‘Gwen’s Arthur’.”

Gwaine’s okay, then. He’s swearing and rude. Good. 

“Oh. Really? I thought… Leon knows.”

“Yes, well, I’m not Leon.”

“He’ll find Percival.”

“He won’t. He can’t. Morgana took him.”

“Merlin can save him.”

“No he can’t.”

“Merlin’s going to fix me, then I can save him. Merlin knows.”

“Who you are. Yes, you mentioned.”

“I made your plans better.”

“Yes, you can’t do that.”

“I know. I remembered that. Later. When Gilli came. Gilli, did you know, has powerful magic?”

So that’s why Arthur bowed to Gilli. 

“No he doesn’t, he has an aid.”

“Oh. My mother’s seal.”

“No, he h- holy shit you little shitting shit! Ow!”

Merlin opens his eyes. He’s lying in a bed opposite the one he left Gwiane in. Gwaine’s on his back, cursing and groaning, holding his chest. 

“It’s his own fault!” Arthur says, turning to Merlin, wide eyed, “he tried to hit me!”

“Because he’s bloody Arthur.. Pendra… gon! Bloody HeLL!” 

Merlin sighs and gets up, digging through his supplies for a pain killer and forcing Gwaine to take it. He adds a bit of magic to speed it and Gwaine goes limp and dopey immediately, mouth going limp, eyes blurring. 

“Wow. That’s amazing, Merls,” Gwaine says. 

“I’m not fixing you, Arthur,” Merlin says. 

“Well no, I’m not broke. But you’re getting rid of them. Then I can see Gwaine’s plans again.”

“He’s not going to be making plans for a bit, he’s going to be staying with us.”

“What about Percy?” Arthur asks. 

“Yes, what about Perce?” Gwaine asks. 

“I… Morgana has him. There’s nothing I can do.”

Merlin leaves the room and runs all the way up to his tower, calling Leon for news. Leon isn’t available. Neither is Lance, or Gwen, or any of the knights, and Freya hasn’t heard anything from anyone except Elena who is working in Nemreth with Mithian and no bloody use at the moment. 

Merlin stays upstairs all day, relying on Arthur to let him know if anything happens in terms of Gwaine’s health, and only goes down when his stomach protests and his magic decides that getting food after working feverishly on projects (that are not the axe and not connected to the axe) all day it is not going to do his work for him. He finds Gwaine laid out on the sofa, Arthur sitting cross legged by his head, Mol napping between his legs with her head on his knee. 

“Shh,” Arthur says, not looking up from ‘Doctor Who’ where it’s playing on the TV, “Gwaine’s asleep.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, and turns to go to the kitchen.

Arthur follows him and sits on the counter top, watching Merlin pull out the makings of pasta and sauce. 

“You know that I am Pendragon,” Arthur says, “and you know that I know you know?”

“Yes.”

“Gwen told me. I don’t really believe her. Like Gaius told you you were Emrys and you don’t believe him.”

“Gaius didn’t tell me shit,” Merlin snaps, the old bruise of that never having faded. 

“My father never told me shit either,” Arthur says, rolling the word ‘shit’ around his mouth. 

“Gaius isn’t my father.”

“My father isn’t my father, either,” Arthur says, “because I was begot by magic. Nimueh is technically my father. She never told Uther that. I think that’s what pissed him off most. More than me looking like Ygraine, more than her dying, what made him angry was the fact of Nimueh siring his son when he could not.”

“When he- it wasn’t Ygraine who was barren.”

“Nope.”

“Well, that explains a few things.”

“Mm. Like his giant car, right?”

“You seem to be remembering a lot.”

“Yes. Gwaine is here, you touch me, which you shouldn’t do by the way because I’m an empath and your emotional well being helps mine, and that is not a desirable thing. I musn’t be alert. She will find us.”

“Morgana.”

“She walks in my dreams, I don’t know how to keep her out. Mordred knows.”

“I told you, his destiny-“

“A des tiny is tiny. As is a Des.”

“Shut up. We are not using Mordred, we are not fixing you, we are not getting that damned cat back and we are not having this discussion here!” 

Arthur just kisses him and goes to sit with Gwaine and Moloch instead of with Merlin. Merlin pouts. 

Merlin thinks it’s over, that Arthur’s given up, and he’s relieved. Arthur stops talking about things from the past and instead talks to Merlin about the pictures he’s drawing of Moloch and Miranda and Merlin (sometimes Mol looks suspiciously cat-like and black instead of brown, but Merlin doesn’t comment because Arthur doesn’t show him those specifically). He also starts sneaking into Merlin’s room and sleeping pressed against him. 

Which means Merlin wakes up with Arthur’s morning boner stuck in his hip, which is not unpleasant but not idea because he doesn’t want to do anything with that until he’s sure Arthur’s really able to make such decisions. 

Gwaine is immobile for a week and Arthur and Merlin both cater to his patheticness, bringing him food, keeping him company, plopping Mol on top of him for entertainment, moving him between the sofa and his bed in the sick room. Arthur does this by scooping him up and carrying him like a baby, muscles of his arms straining under the weight but not complaining. Arthur draws Percival for Gwaine, over and over again, until it’s almost a flick book of expressions and actions. Gwaine mopes. 

After that, Gwiane gets up and starts to moves around. He sits for hours looking out, a picture of Arthur’s spread over his thigh, fingers moving over the lines of Percival’s face. Arthur sits with him sometimes, with Mol, trying to comfort. Merlin has seen grief too many times and leaves Gwaine to it. He can’t help, and he feels too guilty about that to be of any comfort. 

Gwaine and Arthur seem to get along fine, but Arthur sometimes comes to Merlin in the middle of the day and interrupts his work. This happens about three weeks after Gwaine arrives. Merlin, now used to it, turns to give Arthur the hug he’s seeking. Arthur leans into him and Merlin can feel a fine trembling go through him. 

“Arthur?” he asks, stroking the broad, muscled back, “are you okay? Did Gwaine upset you?”

“He doesn’t. He’s just… He just _hurts_ and I can feel him. I thought I couldn’t feel people anymore, but I can feel him.”

“You can’t, I don’t think. I think it’s just regular empathy, not… you know.”

“Why?”

“Because I think if you were truly feeling someone else’s rage, guilt, grief… whatever it is Gwaine has inside him. I think that it would be more… your mind isn’t whole, not yet. I think it would be more damaging.”

Actually, that’s what Freya thinks. Merlin had asked her, in a general way, about the effects of other people’s grief on an empath, because he’d been worried. Arthur shivers again.

“I dunno.”

“I also think that, while you are unsure of your claim to the name Pendragon, it isn’t. You are Pendragon and Pendragon was close to all of the men he worked with. Even, maybe especially, when they didn’t know who he was. Pendragon worked with Percival a fair bit.”

This is conjecture. Merlin doesn’t actually have any idea what Arthur’s role was, and he thinks it best it stays that way. 

“So it’s my grief, not Gwaine’s?”

“Do you think Percival is dead?”

“He is with Morgana. It is the same thing.”

Merlin holds Arthur tighter and takes him downstairs to bed, to Arthur’s room, to hold him and sooth him. Arthur falls asleep eventually and Merlin goes in search of Gwaine. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says, from his customary window sill, “What happened to my other companions?”

“If Mol’s not here or with me or with Arthur she’s probably with Miranda. Arthur’s asleep, he’s not feeling well.”

“Oh. Is Miranda the fish? Mol’s an easier name than Moloch. Arthur always calls her Moloch.”

“It’s her full name. Miranda is the fish. We had a kitten called Mathilda for a while, too.”

Gwaine snorts and mutters something disparaging against Arthur’s imagination with names, but then he gazes dolefully out at the fog. 

“Why don’t you sit at the next window?” Merlin asks, “that one looks out on sunny Spain. This one is always foggy and grey.”

“Pathetic fallacy.”

“Percival might still be okay.”

“Is it likely?”

“No.”

“He was my partner,” Gwaine says, tracing a pattern into the patch of his breath on the glass, “in all ways. I love him.”

“Uh… oh. Oh! You’re boyfriend? Oh, Gwaine. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Stupid berk was trying to save my life, as usual. Never work with your boyfriend, Merlin.”

“He did save your life.”

“But I couldn’t save his.”

“Would you prefer you were wherever he is, and he was here?”

“Yes. I’m safe.”

“Safety is relative. I wouldn’t say you were safe from yourself, would you?”

“I guess not.”

“And you’re miserable with guilt, you think he’s probably dead. Would you really want him to suffer this?”

“Perhaps. At least I’d know he was alive.”

“Then keep hold of that. Wherever he is, he knows that you are alive and well, and safe. He knows that you are killing yourself over him. He knows that you are something he can hold onto. You hold onto that, for him. Yeah? He knows you’re safe. Isn’t that the biggest gift anyone can give? Staying, so he knows you’re safe.”

Merlin hadn’t realised before, not really, how close Gwaine was to the edge of everything. 

“He knows I’m safe.”

“Yeah.”

Gwiane nods and gets up, and Merlin goes back to Arthur. 

He really thinks that he’s created a good equilibrium. He sleeps with Arthur, he talks to Gwaine, he works. He cooks, he tests a few spells to stop the rain and gets closer to the theory of it, he spends hours out on the balcony, thinking, trying to work things through. He spends less time in his workshop and less time in Arthur’s light room, because Arthur spends most of his time with Gwaine and somehow Merlin finds that he needs to be outside, away. 

He really does think he’s got things under control. 

So, when he decides to use the time he usually practises spells to stop the rain to do some research in his office, he doesn’t worry when he doesn’t come across Gwaine, Arthur, Mol or Miranda anywhere, he just assumes they’re somewhere else, doing whatever it is they do to keep themselves amused. He has his head in the clouds when he steps off the escalator into his work space but it still only takes him a few minutes to realise why his magic’s been so restless on him today. To realise that tableau in front of him. 

Arthur’s kneeling at Gwaine’s feet, Gwaine is hefting the axe, and Mol and Miranda are on the table, watching. 

“No,” Merlin says, letting his magic go. 

It’s too late, though. His magic surrounds Arthur a moment after the blade falls, cutting through Arthur’s shoulder into his chest and then through. There’s no blood, but Arthur starts to leak, the air around him becoming indistinct, foggy, dim, blurring him. Merlin’s magic has surrounded him, trying to protect, but it’s too late. It just keeps everything in, nothing leaking into the room. 

 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, looking into his friend’s eyes, asking why, how, what kind of betrayal. 

 

Gwaine gazes back, defiant. 

 

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, again, certain this time, resigned, “you stupid fuck. You might love Percy, but I love Arthur. You think I wouldn’t have done this if I thought it’d help him?”

Merlin looks away, back at Arthur. He can’t do anything there, though. Whatever it is the axe has done he can’t undo it, because he can feel the house entering space, time, here, there. The amount of magic, the density of it, it’s leaking through. Freya was right; as soon as Arthur started to become Pendragon, to make peace with that side of himself, Morgana found them. Merlin draws himself up and calls the staff to him, weaving spells into the fabric of the house, calling up all the defensive spells he knows. 

“Arthur?” Gwaine says, “Merlin, he’s-“

“Shut up,” Merlin snaps, “can’t do anything. Stand still, you fool.”

Gwaine stills. Merlin calls Freya to him, and Gilli, but he knows they won’t arrive in time.

“Tell Gaius we’re found. I need a new safe house,” Merlin says, keeping it short, “do it now.”

Gwaine moves. 

“Don’t you have your radio thing?” Merlin asks. 

“No.”

“You stupid fool!” Merlin says, searching with one hand, finding the radio and bringing it up to smack Gwaine in the face. 

“Ow.”

“Serves you right.”

Merlin pauses, feeling scales, wings, next door. Hearing a roar, a command. He winces. 

“I don’t want to free you, old dragon!” Merlin shouts at it, commanding the house, opening it, removing the walls until he has one big room to defend, in one place, in one time. 

Kilgarah moves through the walls and ceiling, wings beating, calling for attention. Merlin can hear him, now, can understand his roars and whispers, as well as his words. He’s calling Merlin fool and arrogant and all the things Merlin wants to hurl at Gwaine. Then. 

“I can help him.”

Merlin lets Kilgarah out. The room stretches further to accommodate his bulk and Merlin opens up the roof, taking apart and rebuilding his fortress, calling up a castle around himself. He lets the staff drop, all the protection he can think of thrown out, and kneels at Arthur’s side. 

“Arthur,” he says, drawing his magic back. 

“Wait,” Kilgarah says, “all that darkness, it can destroy.”

“Well?” Merlin asks. 

“I can absorb it. Does the boy have his sword?”

“Yes.”

“And you can escape to safety?” 

“I think so.”

“Then I will do this. It may be powerful, it may weaken me, I may be useless to you.”

“Three seconds ago you were a picture in my hallway, I’m sure I can plan around.”

Kilgarah just looks at him, so Merlin pushes the magic surrounding Arthur out, to their boundary. Arthur screams, as if he’s dying, like an animal. Kilgarah roars. There’s fire and wind and dragon wings, and then Arthur’s limp in Merlin’s arms and Kilgarah is flung against one fortified wall, breathing heavily, unmoving. 

“Jesus Christ,” Gwaine says, “it’s never boring with you, Merls.”

“This is of your making, Green Knight,” Merlin says, letting his power effect his voice. 

Gwaine goes silent again. 

“Find your weapon, and Arthur’s. Leave the axe. Put it in the chest.”

Merlin has gathered all the things he’s working on and put them in the chest. Freya will pick it up, if Morgana doesn’t get it first. Merlin curls around Arthur, feeling the first vibrations of attack. His magic can only withstand so long, even he isn’t all powerful. Especially against Morgana, Nimueh and Morgause. Arthur stirs and opens wide, glazed eyes. 

“You stupid prat,” Merlin says, finding himself almost in tears, “what were you thinking? You stupid, stupid man!”

“Morgana,” Arthur says, eyes brightening as if with fever, body buckling again, going limp and stupid. 

“Arthur?”

“My cat,” Arthur says, miserably, “I wish Mathilda was back.”

Gwaine comes up with the sword Merlin saw Arthur wield once before, a gun slung in a holster across his chest, a sword and a knife at his belt, an elephant gun on his shoulder. 

“You’ll damage yourself if you use that,” Merlin snaps. 

“So?”

Merlin takes Arthur’s sword and drags him to his feet, pressing it into his hand. 

“What about your dragon?” Gwaine asks. 

“Kilgarah can look after himself, right Arthur?”

Arthur doesn’t answer. He’s crouching, cradling Mol, looking like a small child. 

“Bloody hell,” Gwaine says, staring at him, “that’s Pendragon.”

“Yes. I told you it wouldn’t fix him. Stand up, Arthur. Bring Mol and Miranda.”

Arthur tucks the puppy under one arm and picks up the fish tank, placing both carefully in front of Merlin. 

“Moloch, stay,” Arthur says. 

Mol sits and wags her tale. 

“Back to back?” Gwaine asks, as the one roomed fort vibrates again, harder this time.

“Back to back,” Merlin agrees. 

He feels Arthur’s shoulder on one side, Gwaine’s on the other, and he just has to trust that they’ll manage. He just has to trust that word will get to Gaius, that they’ll have a place to go, soon, so he can actually take them away. He takes up the staff once more, now that Morgana knows the scent he might as well use it. 

“Gaius,” Gwaine says, “co-ordinates. He says ten minutes.”

“Good,” Merlin says, “we will hold for ten, then we will go. Gaius is precise. Can you do ten, boys?”

“I can,” Gwaine says, hefting the elephant gun and drawing his knife to stick it between his teeth. 

“Ten what?” Arthur asks. 

“Ten Minutes. Just stand back to back with us, hold that sword in front of you, and trust,” Merlin says. 

It won’t help much, but the look of the thing will be good. 

“Morgana’s here,” Arthur says, “she’s out there. I’m going to let her in.”

“Shit!” Merlin says, as every bit of his protection falls away, leaving them on a hill, only the chest still there, hidden by a spell, because Arthur hadn’t noticed it. 

Merlin spins, dragging the staff through the air, calling down the heavens. Nimueh and Morgana are there, Nimueh facing Merlin, Morgana facing Arthur. Then there are shadows, hulking masses, people everywhere, and Gwiane’s gun goes off, exploding in the midst. Merlin turns, twists, catching glimpses of fire, calling lightening, renting the earth, pulling water up and drowning. Still they come on. 

“Morgana,” Arthur says, stumbling forwards. 

Mol starts to bark, shrill and fierce, and Arthur stumbles back again, bumping Merlin and Gwaine. Gwaine’s using his knife and his shot gun, now, elephant gum abandoned as the masses are closing in. Merlin can’t tell who, what. It’s dark and they’re shadows. He fights. 

“She’s my sister,” Arthur says, soft, sad.

“I know,” Merlin says, pulling everything together and putting together a shield, pressing it into three dimensions and buying them a bare moment of stillness and quiet, “pick up your gun, Gwaine.”

Gwaine, who had dropped it, does so. 

“I know she’s your sister,” Merlin says, “but you’re my partner, now. You fight for me. You can love her, but you do not fight for her. I will fight her, you do not have to do that, but you do. Not. Fight for her. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

Merlin swaps places with Arthur and his shield falls. He’s facing Morgana, now, instead of Nimueh. 

 

“Holy shit,” Gwaine mutters from his side, “there he is.”

Merlin doesn’t look. He can feel Arthur at his back, can feel his strength, his sword splitting shadows. He can feel Arthur’s quick feet, can hear him panting. Merlin turns his attention away from everything except for Morgana. She’s casting, eyes down, and Merlin notices too late and is thrown. He flies through the air and Morgana is once more facing Arthur. Merlin watches as something flashes and Arthur cries out. 

“Ten!” Gwaine calls. 

Merlin twists, runs, leaps and flies his way through the masses, opens up the heavens to the storm, gets a grip on Arthur and Gwaine and then flees. He doesn’t take them to the co-ordinates he saw, he takes them to the deep cold of Lapland and pauses, dragging Arthur to stand before him. 

“You can teleport,” Gwaine says, stunned.

“No, I can bend space and time, it’s different,” Merlin snaps, “you fools, what were you- never mind, later. Do you have your ‘m’s, Arthur?”

Arthur nods, clutching Mol to his chest, fish bowl caught on the end of his sword. 

“I’ve never seen a sword like that,” Gwiane says, taking the bowl.

“Excalibur,” Arthur says, softly, looking at the blade. 

“Morgana?” Merlin asks. 

“Here,” Arthur says, pressing the dog closer to his heart, tears on his face. 

He’s bleeding, Merlin realises, quite a lot. Merlin breathes. He has no plan. He can’t take them out of time, not with Arthur calling to Morgana like a beacon.

“She tried to kill you,” Gwaine says, “how can you still love her?”

Arthur doesn’t answer, but Merlin has an idea. 

“I know that you took that axe,” Merlin says, to Gwaine, “what for I don’t want to know. Give it to me.”

Gwaine hands it over. 

“Morgana, Arthur. Call her,” Merlin says. 

He almost doesn’t do it, but what other choice does he have? He lets the blade loose, cutting her away from Arthur, taking his love for her from him. Arthur keels over, bleeding red into the snow. Merlin takes them home. 

 

Arthur and Gwaine are both too shocked and guilty to really despise Merlin for what he’s done, but they both look at him with fear, now. It’s worse from Arthur, because he used to just think of Merlin as ‘Merlin’, and now he’s truly ‘Emrys’. And very little else. Arthur staggers around clinging to Moloch, eyes wide and terrified. He doesn’t even talk to Miranda, even when she does the tricks he taught her. 

Freya comes. A week later. She brings the trunk of magical objects, and Mathilda. She also brings a lecture for Merlin about how she doesn’t approve of him allowing Arthur to have the cat, nor does she approve of Arthur knowing who he is, or of Arthur knowing that Merlin knows who he is. She wants to take Gwaine by the scruff of the neck and shake him. In cat-form. She grudgingly brings the news that Percival returned, and will probably end up here at some point because Gaius can’t make him whole-y well again. Merlin doesn’t pass that on to Gwaine, just that Percival is okay. 

Gwaine starts training, sparring with Merlin, focussing on ‘getting back to Percival’. Merlin feels like a cad, once again, but he doesn’t say anything. He just helps Gwaine heal, shoving his magic into the mix, and after a week Gwiane heads out. He misses Percival by an hour and Arthur stares, confused, when Gaius brings Percival. Arthur rarely comes into the livingroom anymore, barely moving from the doorway if he even leaves his new room. Merlin hasn’t heard anything about Kilgarah. 

“Hello, Merlin,” Gaius says, “you’ve had an exciting time of it.”

“I am going to gut Gwaine with his own knife,” Merlin says. 

“Hmm. Percival, you should go introduce yourself to Arthur and explain why you’re here.”

“Gwen’s Arthur?” Percival asks. 

He looks pale, but he look okay other than that. Other than that, the crutch, the limp and the lack of one arm. Merlin watches his lopsided trajectory through the room. 

“Gwen’s Arthur,” Gaius agrees. 

“Is Gwaine still here?” Percival asks, turning in the doorway. 

“No,” Merlin snaps, and Percival retreats. 

“Your office, I think,” Gaius says.

Merlin’s made it deep underground this time, to reflect his mood. There’s plenty of light, but there are dark corners.

“I burnt all my work,” Merlin says. 

“You worked out how to use that axe?”

“I cut away his love for her. Gwaine cut away the dark magic, there was no shield between them anymore.”

“No. I see. Have you told him?”

“He knows. His mind is no longer clouded by that botched spell of theirs, or the rest of it. He’s no longer connected with Morgana. He can think. He knows.”

“He is still…”

“He was tortured a hell of a lot, and now there’s nothing to stop him remembering it. And I betrayed him.”

“Yes. And now you have sent Gwaine away on a wild goosehunt, as punishment.”

“He’ll work it out, he’ll be back. And no, it isn’t a punishment. He’s needed, and if he were to have found Percival before he was ready to return, he would never have returned.”

“You may be right.”

“And I wanted to punish him, so I did it this way.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He is in love.”

“He betrayed his king, Gaius. Arthur is our king, isn’t that right? That’s the story you used to tell me.”

“I believe Arthur would be more in favour of a republic than a monarchy, but, yes. He is the king.”

“And Gwaine betrayed him. He damaged the man I love, put us all in danger, through his stupidity.”

“We all make mistakes. I did everything for Alice, even when she was… tempered.”

“When she was a servant of the Old Religeon, you mean?” Merlin says, too angry to be kind.

“Yes. I mean that, as you knew. No need to spell it out.”

“What can I do for you, Gaius?”

“Look after yourself. Please. Let yourself… Arthur will forgive you.”

“He’s afraid of me,” Merlin says, starting to shake, “he’s frightened of me.”

Before he knows it, Merlin’s sobbing. He’s horrified, so he covers his face with both hands, trying to hold it in, but it’s coming out, right here and now, whether he wants it to or not. Gaius gathers him in and hushes him, and his familiar, boney arms around him make Merlin sob harder. 

“I hate this war,” he says, “I miss my mother. I miss you. I don’t want to live on my own, with just Arthur Pendragon for company!”

“I know. Shh. We all hate it. I know, it’s so hard. It might be too hard. We ask so much of you, Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do it, I’m just Merlin! I’m no-one special, I’m not important. I’m just me. Why doesn’t anyone see that? Why can’t they see me, instead of Emrys?”

“Shh.”

Merlin cries for a long time, clinging to Gaius, letting himself go. He’s come down to hiccupping, shivering breathing when the door creaks open and Mol comes in to flop down on Merlin’s feet and whine at him. 

“At least the dog still loves me,” Merlin says, scooping her up and cradling her the way Arthur does, “Don’t you, Mol?”

Moloch licks Merlin’s face in affirmation and Merlin buries his face in her fur, leaning against Gaius. 

“You need to rest, my lad,” Gaius says, “come on. I’ll sit with you, you can curl up with your dog.”

Merlin conjures a bed right where he’s stood and flops onto it, getting in close to Gaius when he sits on the edge and tucks Merlin in. It’s the first true sleep Merlin’s had since the night on the hill. He sleeps for hours, every time a dream pops up it’s soothed away by Gaius’s wrinkled, warm, familiar hands. Every time he feels himself surfacing, he feels Gaius and drifts deeper again. He dreams of Mol, of fields, of his mother, and then nothing. 

Gaius is still there when he wakes, sitting at the big desk Merlin got to replace his table, studying a tome of magic lore that he gifted to Merlin years ago. Mol’s bouncing around on top of Merlin, chasing a bit of light that moves every time Gaius shifts, chasing her tale when he’s still. Merlin reaches out to stroke her soft fur, and Gaius notices he’s awake.

“Ah, good. You have Arthur worried, upstairs. He says he sent Mol to see if you were okay and she never returned,” Gaius says, eyes sparking with amusement.

“Why didn’t he come himself?” Merlin asks, still feeling sorry for himself. 

“Poor lad doesn’t know if he’s coming or going. I don’t think he’s afraid of _you_ , though. I think you got that wrong. I think he’s afraid for you, I think he’s a bit wary of your power, and I think he isn’t too happy being near any person at the moment. I think his empathic ability is returning. That can be painful.”

“He is an empath, then? You knew?”

“I treated him as a child, for migraines. I never thought it was migraines.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been talking to some people, while you slept, and Leon’s sounded the all-clear for you. There were no terribly serious consequences of Morgana’s attack. We have had to re-write a lot of the plans, the new ones are here for you, because Arthur’s head was an open book for Morgana to rifle through and we don’t know what she got. I think that your identity as Emrys is still hidden from her, though I’m not sure why.”

“Anything else?”

“The attack drew attention. It turns out that the forces Morgana has are not unending, the battle with you created gaps in several places. Percival isn’t the only one who took advantage. We have the cup of life, and have passed it over to the Druids to protect. Uther’s forces raided the camps on the edge of Camelot lands and Morgana’s on the retreat. While fighting Uther is no better than fighting Morgana, there is the bonus that we can occasionally use you, and Arthur can strategize for us, when he’s able.”

“My magic draws Morgana.”

“Only when you use it overtly to attack or defend. You can leave the house now, anyway, and your mother can visit. We can use your magic to rebuilt, we can take stock and strengthen our defences. We can hold our position, which we were in danger of losing. We might even gain ground.”

“We are winning, right?”

“We are winning. It is slow and we have no won yet, but we are winning.”

Merlin sighs and feels relief, then joy. 

“I can see my mother,” he whispers.

“Yes. And Gwaine can finally have some time with the man he loves, and is, by the way, married to.”

“Yes yes, I was too harsh, I know. I’ll call him back when he has- I might even get to see Gwen! She thought we’d never meet again. Is she safe? She is safe, right?”

“We still haven’t heard from her unit. They were in the heart of Morgana’s lands, at the dark tower, when the attack happened. She had Elyan and Lance with her, but we do not have any news. We don’t know what held her up and we don’t know…”

“Has anyone told Arthur?” Merlin asks, “he talks about her a lot. I think they were close.”

“No, no one’s said anything.”

Merlin sighs again and gets himself up, stretching, pausing to give Gaius a half hug and then he heads upstairs, Mol at his heels. Percival’s in the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist, baking. One handed. Merlin watches for a minute, admiring the skill of one armed whisking. 

“Arthur scuttled off to his bedroom,” Percival says, “I just about got out a ‘hi, I’m Per’ before he ran off. Oh, you’ve got the dog, now.”

“She comes and finds me, sometimes,” Merlin says, already on his way to Arthur’s room. 

Arthur’s sitting on the window seat he asked for, but he looks up when Merlin comes in and he doesn’t run, doesn’t look too afraid.

“Hey,” Merlin says, gentling his voice, “Gaius said that perhaps it isn’t me you’re afraid of. If you want me out, I’ll leave and I won’t intrude again.”

Arthur shakes his head and holds out a hand for Mol. Mathilda’s curled up in his lap and Miranda’s on his desk, Merlin notices, a normal goldfish.

“I am not afraid of you,” Arthur says.

“Okay,” Merlin says, “I need to talk to you. I have some bad news.”

“Is someone dead? People die. It’s okay.”

“No. Not as far as… I don’t know.”

“Who’s lost? I was lost for a while.”

“Gwenever.”

Arthur freezes, then goes limp against the wall. Mol starts whining. 

“Arthur?” Merlin says. 

“You’re… you… Merlin, stop!”

Merlin backs away, then remembers Gaius’s guess about the empathic abilities and, instead, calms himself and pushes his pain about Gwen away, masking himself with a quick word. 

“Sorry,” Merlin says, “Is that better?”

“Yes. You think she’s hurt.”

“Yes.”

“I think she’s not,” Arthur says, chin rising stubbornly, hand twisting in Mathilda’s fur. 

“Good. I’m a cynical bastard, don’t let my fear rule you.”

“As if I’d let anyone rule _me_.”

Arthur grins, suddenly, eyes brightening. 

“What?” Merlin asks. 

“You. You’re… better. Than Percy. He’s… hurts. I… hard?”

“You’re hard?” Merlin asks, unable to resist. 

Arthur looks out the window, stroking Mathilda. 

“I’m not ready for that, not now,” Arthur says, quietly, “I can’t get myself back.”

“I know. Sorry, it was just a joke. Sorry.”

“I can bear you, at least. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to.”

“That’s what you were afraid of?”

Arthur nods. Merlin moves cautiously closer, making sure to keep himself in check with his magic, not to leak any emotions in Arthur’s direction. He reaches out and lightly brushes Arthur’s arm, and when Arthur doesn’t protest Merlin rubs his shoulder more firmly, moving in close. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. 

“Yes. You don’t hurt. Is it your magic?”

“I’m using it, yeah. Can’t do it forever, but it’ll hold for the moment.”

“Oh. I’ll get better, I think. I used to be able to hide it, so it was… better.”

“Yeah. You look wrecked,” Merlin says, running his thumb over the bag under Arthur’s left eye, the dark bruises that speak of no sleep, “you look tired.”

“It’s hard to sleep, without her.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I don’t think I’m capable, do you?”

“Possibly not.”

“I wish we could go save Gwen.”

“If she’s not back in a week, if Leon cannot find her, we will. Morgana has retreated a long way, her lands are ours, or Uther’s. Our mistake created a diversion. I think she was hoping to wipe us out, there. Take away our leader and destroy a powerful magical ally in one go. She is weaker than we thought.”

“I should mind, I used to mind. I wanted her safe, now I don’t care.”

“That’s because I took that from you.”

“Yes. Now I want her dead.”

“Come on, sleep. My lord.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I was joking. Again. Arthur.”

“I don’t want to be that, not to you, not now.”

“Alright. You don’t have to be anything for me, I promise. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Merlin helps Arthur off the window-sill, then suddenly remembers. 

“You were hurt,” Merlin says, stilling Arthur, emotion crashing over him and Arthur, “sorry, sorry, I’ve got it. You were hurt, though. Morgana. I forgot, for so long. How come I forgot?”

“I… you were thinking. When you used the axe. And when Gwaine was using it, he was thinking about his sister and when I asked him about her he was just blank and shrugged. I think the axe does damage both ways. You were thinking about me being hurt.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why didn’t you bleed to death?”

“Gwaine wrapped and stitched me up. I’m used to pain.”

“Would you like me to heal them?”

Arthur smiles, but shakes his head and just leans on Merlin, using him as a prop. Now that Merlin remembers, his mind fills in the limp and winces of pain and puts it in as one reason Arthur’s been keeping to his room. It’s quite a relief. Also, he can see it, now. He remembers.

“I don’t think that axe is permanent. I should do some research.”

“Gaius said he’d look into that. If it’s not, the magic will come back, too. I’ll be fogged again.”

“Shit.”

“You say that a lot.”

“There’s a lot of things that are shit.”

Merlin sits with Arthur while he falls asleep, the way Gaius did for him, and both Mol and Mathilda curl up with him. Miranda tries to flap her way over, too, so Merlin puts her on the little table at the bedside. 

“Please let me heal you, at least a little.”

“Mm. Little,” Arthur says, half asleep already. 

Merlin presses his fingers to the wound in Arthur’s thigh and heals the knotted tissue that’s building up, helps the muscle knit itself back together properly. He heals the inside of Arthur where Morgana got his side. He has to pull away, though, because his magic starts to go deeper, to try and fix the fissure in Arthur’s mind, to fix the scars the torture left inside and out. And Merlin knows that he can’t do that, only time can do that. So he pulls back and goes to help Gaius. 

 

By the time Arthur wakes they’ve found that the axe is permanent on one or the other of the pair. Either on the wielder, or on the man it is used against. It automatically takes the wielder’s ‘offering’ only temporarily, and the wielder must offer up his own memory in return for the other. Merlin thinks that, when the time is right, when Arthur and he decide the time is right, he is willing to give up his memory of Arthur’s wounds. 

Gaius has to leave, then, and Merlin feels it. He has to stay away from Arthur because with Gaius leaving with the promise to return with Hunith sometime soon, when it’s safe, Merlin can’t control his emotion. Though he has little to no idea what the hell it is he’s feeling; grief, fear, sadness, excitement. Everything, it seems like. 

The next three days pass peacefully. Percy bakes, Arthur and Merlin rest, together and apart depending on their mental states, Mol and Mathilda get under foot, Miranda turns somersaults. Merlin’s getting back into the rhythm and starting to work again, shuffling off to a practice room to try and stop rain with a spell, and by the forth day it almost feels like they never moved. Most of Merlin’s efforts still go into making sure he’s shielded and safe, but he has time to do the rain thing, too. 

On the fifth day, the doorbell goes. For once, they’re all in the livingroom, Arthur asleep against Merlin, Percival playing with Mol and Mathilda, laughing and mostly happy. Arthur wakes up before the doorbell goes and shits, agitated. Merlin glares at Percy. 

“It’s not me,” Percy says, laughing at Mol as she falls over, “I’m perfectly content.”

“Well it isn’t me!” Merlin defends.

“It’s no one,” Arthur says, “I had a dream. Honestly, you two are such mother hens.”

The doorbell goes and Merlin gets up to answer it, leaving Percival to defend their honour as non-chickens. He lets Gwaine in and takes his codes, then opens the door and keeps his head down to show his remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, “I was angry with you. I shouldn’t have been so mean. Gaius already told me off, and he told me that you ma- Gwen!”

Merlin realises who is behind Gwaine and flings himself at her, quickly letting go to hug Elyan and Lance as well. 

“Hello, Merlin,” Lance says, “hi. We’re alright. Gwen needs to rest, but she’s okay.”

“Of course, of course! She can rest here. You all can.”

Merlin turns, to tell Percival who’s here, but he’s already got Gwaine in his arms and they’re… 

“That is definitely not safe for work,” Elyan says, tilting his head on the side and squinting, “it’s hot, though.”

“Get your own,” Gwaine growls, “Where’s your room, Perce? I’ve been kept from you for too long.”

Percival takes Gwaine away. 

“Where’s Arthur?” Gwen asks. 

“He’s not… he’s…” Merlin starts, “he’s still having problems.”

Gwen doesn’t look well. She looks hollow eyed and thin, as if she’s wasted away inside and out. Lance and Elyan are sticking very close to her. Arthur comes to stand in the doorway, Mathilda under one arm, Moloch under the other. His face is pinched with pain but he limps over and embraces Gwen. His face smoothes out, suddenly. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Gwenevere,” he says, “you were right about the power of Merlin, you know.”

“Hey, I’m not- you gossip about my magic?” Merlin says. 

“Not that kind of power,” Gwen mutters, “oh Arthur! You look so well!”

“You on the other hand, do not. You will rest here. You can have Mithrandir, when we get her.”

“Mithrandir?” Lance asks. 

“Another dog,” Merlin says, “Arthur, we can’t have-“

“We’ve got Mathilda, don’t we? Why not Mithrandir? She’s harmless. I’ve checked and everything! My sister doesn’t even like her!”

“Alright, fine,” Merlin says, giving up, “why not set Mordred free, while we’re at it?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, “that’s a good idea.”

“No,” Merlin says, “not while it’s my plan we’re using.”

“Fine,” Arthur says, pulling away from Gwen. 

His face pinches up again and he scarpers, pets at his heels. Arthur turns at the doorway and Mol whimpers, but runs back over to Merlin and sits at his feet. 

“Did he just send her back as a guard?” Elyan asks, laughing. 

“No,” Merlin denies, but he thinks Elyan might just be right. 

“Alright. Gwennie, I have to go. Leon needs me. I’ll come back, though,” Elyan says, hugging his sister. 

“No you won’t, don’t you dare. You fight for us both, and stay safe,” Gwen says, “Lance will look after me.”

“I don’t like Lance,” Elyan grumbles. 

But, once he’s let go of Gwen, he hugs Lance just as tight and makes him promise to look after himself, as well as Gwen. Then he goes, without looking back. 

“War seriously sucks,” Gwen says, “I want to lie down and cry somewhere and then have nightmares. Oh joy.”

“Where do you want a room? Close or far?” Merlin asks. 

“Far,” Lance says, “her nightmares are… far.”

Merlin nods and doesn’t ask, creating a long passage and a big, luxurious suit of rooms at the end of it. He makes sure they know they’re always welcome in this part of the house and then sends them off to bed. He’s left on his own, in his livingroom. He looks around, scoops Mol up and retreats to his own room. 

Arthur joins him, after about an hour, forehead scrunched up still but from a headache now. He grumbles about emotional people, complains about Gwaine’s big happy (which Merlin can’t help but laugh at because it is definitely a dirty euphemism whatever Arthur says) coming through the ceiling (and that just makes Merlin laugh harder), and happiness actually being painful when it’s that intense, and then he curls up against Merlin, Mathilda and Moloch at their feet, and they sleep.


End file.
